The Unity Chronicles


Strannik's Journal: Entry One

Unity Standard Time: 16:16, 3rd of March U222. The Vulca Waste, Hephaestus Prime.

There are so few of us left, and fewer still who have yet to taste the flesh of our fellows.

I myself can just barely remember the time before our world was devastated by the Modder fleets. I think I was seven when it happened, though nobody survived who could have told me for sure.

Now it's just me and Erdad, my scavbot. He's not much of a conversationalist, but he's saved my life more times than I can count, and I keep him powered as best I can, so we get along just fine.

We're sheltering in the forest outside town these days, as it's too dangerous to stay in the streets and ruins for too long. There's not much to eat out here, though, so we can't just leave the fucking place behind us.

I can't help but think it would have been different on any world but this. There wouldn't have been so much destruction, amplified by the weapons factories, and the survivors wouldn't have had such ready access to a thousand ways to kill each other. Maybe we could have rebuilt. Maybe whoever's left alive out in the rest of the galaxy might have thought it was worth coming to help us.

The only offworlders we get now are barely any better than the half-mad Shakers - sweeping in, guns hot, to loot whatever they can from the wreckage of once-trailblazing facilities. The only trails being blazed now are ones of destruction.

I have to go. Erdad's sensors are picking something up.

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